


Tactical Exercise

by teztrash (teztime)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teztime/pseuds/teztrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus and Megatron meet up to ****. Rodimus is determined to show him that he is the best damned *****er on the ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

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> ([x](http://moyaofthemist.tumblr.com/post/120033241430))
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> There's some squint-and-you'll-miss it multishipping implication which you are free to ignore as you like. Thanks to my betas saosmash and an anonymous YOU KNOW WHO for catching most of my stupids. Filthy robot smut hereby dedicated to a special someone who thought robosexual was an insult. ♥ 

Megatron had not imagined this in any great detail, but he was aware enough to admit -- at least in the quiet of his own head -- that he had certain expectations about what Rodimus would be like in the berth.

His expectations had been thoroughly trampled.

Beneath him, Rodimus stretched on his back across the berth. The edges of that ridiculous spoiler dug into the padding and threatened to tear the mesh coverings. A writhe twisted from his hips up through his torso to lift his back in a sinuous arch. Small shivers clattered his plating. His eyes were a deep and vibrant blue, but their glow spilled without focus as he threw his head back. His lips parted soundlessly.

That was the strange thing: the quiet.

Megatron did not know what to do with it. The shattered silence unnerved him in a way that the sharp smiles and derisive laughter had not. _That_ he had expected. _That_ had been nearly familiar.

This was dangerous.

* * *

EARLIER

* * *

"We'll meet back here in six hours and we'll plan together," Megatron said, and Rodimus said -- something. He didn't remember what. It was really awesome, though, he was sure about that.

Absently, Rodimus reached out to pull the knife from his desk. He flipped it end over end in his hand and glanced around his quarters. Planning. Right. For a moment, he considered sending Magnus a message asking for advice, but it took only a second imagining the carefully contained enthusiasm that was all too likely to result for him to wince away from the idea. He was pretty sure that there would be lists involved -- spreadsheets just for _preparing_ , a _plan to plan_ , and he wasn't ready for that.

No, if he was going to plan with Megatron, Rodimus was going to do this his way.

Thus, having put Megatron from his thoughts, his prompt arrival six hours later caught Rodimus entirely by surprise.

Rodimus was deeply involved in trying to shave a few seconds off of his course record on _Ibex Cup Classic_. The chime at his door startled him, sending him off the track. He watched in dismay as he crashed. Throwing the controller down on his desk, he opened the door in a simmer of irritation. Seeing Megatron standing in the hallway did not help his mood.

"What?" Rodimus snapped.

Megatron did nothing so obvious as smirk. No, he just let his gaze slide over Rodimus and into his office and then back again. Rodimus could feel the plates of his back slide against each other as his spoiler twitched aggravation.

"Six hours," Megatron said.

Rodimus answered with silence and a blank stare.

A smirk settling in and getting comfortable, Megatron said, "Something about planning me into the ground, wasn't it? Shall we get started planning me into next week?"

That ... sounded familiar. It also sounded a lot more lame when Megatron said it. The words sort of rolled off his tongue to saunter around with feline satisfaction, pausing here and there rub in a knowing, sardonic smugness. For all that they were Rodimus's words, he suddenly felt like he was missing a joke.

It was pretty annoying. Rodimus resisted the temptation to snap the door shut in Megatron's face and mentally high-fived himself for his virtue.

Stepping to the side, Rodimus gestured elaborate, I-totally-didn't-forget-about-this welcome. "Yeah, absolutely. Let's get planning."

Megatron stepped into Rodimus's quarters. He glanced at the display and his smirk failed in favor of a broadly exasperated blankness.

Somehow that was even worse. "I am going to plan you through the wall," Rodimus muttered.

Megatron turned off the game with a firm gesture. "We'll see about that."

"Hey!" Rodimus's objection came too late. He launched himself toward Megatron and slapped his hands away from the computer's controls. He hadn't even saved!

Megatron caught Rodimus's hand by the wrist. His grip was _strong_.

Rodimus broke Megatron's hold with a twist of his arm. Was Megatron sneaking fuel on the side? That'd just figure. Heat lingered where Megatron's hand had been only a second ago.

Rodimus turned away to study his office. His thoughts blanked as he searched for something ... plannish. Maybe he should've sent that message to Magnus, after all. He had _no_ idea what to do.

He turned toward to Megatron only to stop with a sudden start on finding him standing close. Very close. With a sudden, visceral awareness, Rodimus could feel the heat of Megatron's frame warming the air a handspan distant. Rodimus startled at the click of his own vents cycling open.

Rodimus scrambled a step away only to feel his spoiler hit the wall at his back.

Megatron's hand hit the wall next to his head a moment later.

Heat crawled over Rodimus's frame, followed by a sudden chill. His spark thrummed, spilling extra energy into his wiring in case he had to fight. He remembered -- he remembered being surprised by Megatron before; he remembered a pulse of surprise and then a sudden nothing.

Megatron reached for him with his other hand. Rodimus stood frozen, spark racing, before he gathered himself to turn away. Moving away from the reach of Megatron's hand only forced him against the brace of Megatron's arm next to his head.

Megatron suddenly stopped, a single finger resting on Rodimus's waist. The touch sent an electric shiver crawling across Rodimus's plating. He was intensely aware of how close they were standing and the strength that defeat could not erase from Megatron's frame. Heat bloomed in his chest; ice slowed his limbs.

Megatron, caught in apparent surprise by his turn, shifted. He dropped his arm and stepped back, leaving Rodimus room to move.

Rodimus watched with a sense of wonder as the great Slag-Maker shuffled back a step and looked uncertain. His temperature steadied and processor cleared.

The long-term implications of strategy were not, admittedly, Rodimus's strength. This, though -- _this_ was just a tactical exercise. He saw weakness and, with a lightning flash of intuition, understood.

Okay, _not_ murder.

Rodimus dusted off one of his better smiles, pouring into it all the confidence that he could summon. The baffled confusion dawning in Megatron's gaze was all the reward he could ask for.

"Oh, yeah." Rodimus surged forward, suddenly sure of himself, and Megatron fell back before him.

Any doubts that Rodimus had in his plan -- and it was a pretty nebulous plan, he'd admit, thus far consisting of 'Holy slag, Megatron wants to frag.' and 'I'm going to frag the hell out of Megatron!' -- melted away. Confidence flooded his systems with a heady rush of power.

One step, two: Megatron's thighs hit the edge of his desk. Rodimus indulged himself watching Megatron's features suffuse with anticipation as Rodimus hitched his leg up so that his knee hit the desk next to him.

Rodimus stretched up toward Megatron. Pressing the gold of his chest to the warming silver of Megatron's frame, Rodimus laughed at the sudden growl of interest from Megatron's systems. "Uh huh. That's what I thought."

Wrapping his arms around Megatron's shoulders, Rodimus smiled in satisfaction. Megatron's hands came to rest at his waist, pulling him closer. Rodimus settled in, shifting the load of his frame to Megatron, who simply moved back on the desk to take on more of it.

Rodimus felt the weight pulled off his other foot so that his toes only just trailed against the floor. His weight fell fully against Megatron, and he hung supported by the wrap of his arms around Megatron's shoulders and the arm settling around his waist. He felt the same dizzying, light-headed rush that had accompanied some of his better stunts.

"So when I said planning...?" Rodimus nosed along Megatron's cheek and glanced sidelong. He tilted his head and breathed his words into a very attentive audial: "You didn't think I meant planning."

Megatron sounded annoyed. "Of course not. Do you even listen to yourself?"

Rodimus ducked his head and pressed a grin against Megatron's throat. "I try not to," he murmured. He plucked at the cables of Megatron's throat with his lips and tongue.

"Obviously." Megatron's hands tightened on Rodimus's hips, then slid up the line of his spine in a sure stroke. Rodimus wiggled and arched his back, pushing into the touch of Megatron's hand. "If you _had_ listened to yourself, you wouldn't be even slightly surprised by this. Weeks, months of bickering, bantering, _flirting_ \--."

Rodimus breathed an appreciative sigh as Megatron pushed his fingers between the joints of his spoilers against his back. "Okay, whatever I said, clearly we were working off a misunderstanding." He shifted to look at Megatron. "Right now, I think we understand each other pretty well."

"For once," Megatron agreed. His hand tightened on Rodimus's waist, pulling him in with a hard click of metal, gold to silver.

The pull drew Rodimus's other foot off the floor entirely. His weight hung fully suspended. He shifted, drawing up both legs to straddle Megatron's hips, and scooted forward with an eagerness that sent datapads scattering to the floor as his knees bumped them.

His hips stretched to accommodate the width of Megatron's body. The ache felt delicious. A shiver crept over Rodimus's frame and sent bolts of prickling heat to his interface array. A minor transformation sequence widened the stance of his hips and he sank down against Megatron as gravity drew them together.

Rodimus rolled his hips down against Megatron with a grin, grinding into the dark metal of his pelvic panel. He could feel the warmth of Megatron's core heating through the metal. Rodimus was willing and ready to crank that from 'gentle heat' to 'scorching hot'.

"There's probably something to be learned here," Rodimus said. "Something about proper communication, about assumptions -- I can't believe you just assumed I'd want to frag you!"

"Rodimus," said Megatron in a very patient sort of voice.

"Megatron," Rodimus mimicked back.

"Are you really going to mock my assumptions when you are grinding against me like a turbofox in heat?"

An icy bolt of embarrassment bit Rodimus's spark.

When he faltered, Megatron's hand spread over his hip to hook against the armoring of his thigh. "I didn't tell you to stop."

"Okay. How about we leave the cutting comments _outside_ of the berth, then?" Rodimus sounded far more uncertain than he cared to admit, so he covered it digging his fingers deep into Megatron's shoulder joint. He dragged his fingertips along sensors that were hypersensitive for their lack of touch and pulled at wires already prickling with charge.

He was rewarded by a grunt, but that slight noise pleased Rodimus all out of proportion.

"Nothing like a change of pace," Megatron said.

"That's me. A change of pace." Slipping his other hand down Megatron's chest, Rodimus paused to grind his thumb into the curving, twining lines carved across Megatron's body. He dipped his head, following the path of his thumb with his tongue and was rewarded by the sound of vents opening to shed heat.

Gliding his fingertips lightly down the ribbing of Megatron's waist, Rodimus rose up to look down at Megatron. He ground his palm against Megatron's pelvic panel. "Open up. Let's see what we've got to work with."

"Ah," said Megatron. He notably failed to transform back the plating.

Rodimus drummed his fingers on Megatron's waist. "What, do you want an engraved invitation?"

Megatron grasped Rodimus by the hips and _lifted_ him, setting him back on his feet. Rodimus could only startle back in surprise as he regained his balance. "Megatron?"

Looking down at him with aggrieved exasperation, Megatron said, "I think it's time we went over some things."

"Oh my God, no, I've had the talk, what is this." Rodimus slumped against the wall at his back and covered his face with his hands. He split his fingers to peek at Megatron from behind them. Despite himself, he smirked at the deepening exasperation on Megatron's features.

Dropping his hands, Rodimus waved them and said, "I know how it works! Believe me, I've got all the right firewalls and shields. No uploads, no viruses."

Megatron looked slightly startled, then said, "So you don't--?"

"Don't what?" asked Rodimus, coming to rest with his hands on his hips.

After a grudging pause, Megatron said, "Spike. Valve."

Rodimus stared back. "Of course I do."

Megatron dragged his hands down his face. "Decepticons typically do not carry those mods." At whatever look he saw on Rodimus's face, he snapped, "Do you need a history lesson?"

"What?" Rodimus tapped the side of his head as though his hearing had glitched. "What? Wait, I thought I just heard you say--."

"It was an indulgence, an affectation of the upper class!" Megatron growled. He surged forward, stepping away from the desk and backing Rodimus against the wall.

Rodimus went willingly. He leaned against the wall, and reached for Megatron. Megatron was still talking, but Rodimus wasn't really listening: "We are _superior_ to organics," he said.

Rodimus bit at the cables of Megatron's throat, catching them lightly between his teeth. He licked along and between them, forcing a catch in the rant. _Blah, blah, mechanical superiority, blah, blah, biological inferiority._

Megatron rallied, finishing, "We don't _mimic_ them."

Rodimus lifted his head to nuzzle at the underside of Megatron's jaw. "Oh my God, you are such a Decepticon," he said into the face of Megatron's irritation.

"Were you onlined with those mods?"

Rodimus flashed back to Hot Rod, to Nyon, to desperate, dirty streets and falling ashes. He leaned back and frowned up at Megatron. "They're mine, now!"

Megatron's expression read satisfaction to Rodimus's eye. Annoying. Rodimus slipped his fingers back beneath Megatron's armoring and pinched at a sensitive knot of wiring. Megatron started, catching at his hand. Rodimus began to pull away, but Megatron simply folded his hand in his own.

Rodimus didn't know what to do with that. He stood there, caught by surprise, and -- briefly, almost against his will -- listened, arrested by the intensity of Megatron's gaze.

"Your case is common," Megatron said. "The Autobots kept them not as a sign of their compassion for the lower races but rather for their overtly classist--"

Rodimus lunged forward and sealed his lips to Megatron's mouth in a searing kiss to shut him up. He was so not here for this. All this 'Autobots bad' was cooling his systems like they'd been plunged in liquid nitrogen. Back to basics.

Rodimus bit at Megatron's lower lip -- not hard, but enough to register his disapproval of the topic. Rewarded by the pleased rumble of Megatron's frame, Rodimus soothed the nip with the lap of his tongue and drew back. "No politics."

"Very well," Megatron agreed, but he sounded annoyed.

Rodimus grinned anyway, then settled back down his heels from his tiptoe lunge. He pulled his hand from Megatron's grasp somewhat reluctantly. "Of course, I'm not exactly sure how we're going to make this work without...." He trailed off somewhat uncertainly.

To Rodimus's consternation, Megatron started laughing.

Throwing his arms up, Rodimus stalked for his berthroom past the doors of his office. Megatron caught up to him just inside the doors, slipping his hands around his waist.

They fell easily into step. The nudge of Megatron's thighs against the back of his legs moved Rodimus's feet forward a step at a time. Rodimus rested his hands over Megatron's and tilted his head back against the silver metal at his back. The heat at his back thrilled him to the core. "You've got an idea, then, genius," Rodimus said.

"Yes," said Megatron. He herded Rodimus to his berth.

Rather than take the cue and sit, Rodimus turned to face Megatron.

Megatron looked puzzled. "Just how young were you--"

That question was going nowhere good. Rodimus cut it off with a gesture. "Okay! Let's skip to the part where you tell me how we frag! Huh? How about that? None of this -- whatever this is." Feelings. That's what it sounded like. _Feelings_.

Megatron was on exasperated look number, like fifteen, and Rodimus was getting tired of it. He swept the side, and pushed _Megatron_ down _into his berth_.

Rodimus stood there, frozen still in a moment's dizzied disorientation, as the Decepticon -- oh, sorry, _Autobot_ now -- warlord made himself comfortable with some good-natured grumbling. Rodimus startled a moment later as Megatron slapped the berth with an impatient hand.

Crawling onto the berth, Rodimus asked, "Well?" He slipped his leg over Megatron, settling atop him again. Sliding his hands up Megatron's chest, Rodimus become fascinated by the swirling lines under his hands. He followed them with the slide of his palms, with the tips of his fingers, then leaned down to trace them with breath and lips.

Megatron's response was ... delayed. At length, Rodimus lifted his head, gratified by the quickening of Megatron's breath. "Typically, physical touch is amplified by a hardline conn--"

"You have to be kidding me!" Rodimus interrupted.

Megatron glowered and finished, "--ection, that shares and amplifies sensation."

"A hardline connection!"

"Yes."

"Decepticons!"

" _Yes._."

It wasn't that Rodimus was unfamiliar with the concept. Most of the Autobots had their valve ports capped, after all, so that a spike couldn't accidentally jack in when fragging. It was dangerous to allow for that level of connection. It bypassed all kinds of reasonable safeties. That was conjunx stuff, like sparks.

Rodimus watched as Megatron clenched his hands. He had a vivid mental image of being thrown to the floor, and reached to take Megatron's hands before imagination could become reality. He filed the mental image for later, though.

He wasn't sure what to _do_ with Megatron's hands once he had them, but Rodimus was a master of improvisation. He slipped the tips of his fingers along Megatron's wrist, just where the heavier armoring of his arm opened to the more delicate components of his hand. He rubbed and plucked and teased at wires and lines that received precious little attention, judging from Megatron's attentiveness.

"Okay. You don't have a spike -- cord -- so how exactly do you jack in?" Rodimus asked.

"I can show you," Megatron offered.

Rodimus hesitated. "What about protection?"

Megatron, for his part, look flabbergasted. "You have _firewalls_ don't you?"

"Ye--es?"

"It's only a base level connection. What do they even teach you? You don't know anything about your frames," Megatron grumbled in a long, mumbling growl.

Rodimus couldn't help it: he threw back his head and laughed. "You sound like Kup! Scrap, how old are you?" Megatron slipped one of his hands with an irritated gesture. "Never mind, don't answer. You're already fragile enough I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

That got the first _real_ angry look he'd earned thus far, so Rodimus apologized by reaching to dig his thumbs into the seams of Megatron's shoulders. He coaxed a moan from Megatron by digging after every single spot that had earlier earned a twitch of sensitivity.

"Yeah, yeah. You're a big bad Decepticon," Rodimus soothed with a sharp little grin. He ran a quick internal check of his firewalls and anti-viral programs, then wet his lips. He saw Megatron's eyes shift, tracking the tip of his tongue, and did it again just to watch Megatron's eyes narrow.

Rodimus grinned, suddenly much more certain. He wiggled down against Megatron, thighs splitting wide, and eagerly demanded, "Show me."

Megatron did.

* * *

The silence was unnerving.

It had begun well enough. Megatron had run a line to plug into one of Rodimus's ports. He had a surprisingly number of ports for an Autobot, tucked just beneath the hood of his chest.

It reminded Megatron of -- well, of memories he'd rather forget, cast in shades of blue and red and white and a quiet voice. Rodimus's smile haunted Megatron with memories of a dark and laughing face.

But when he had made the connection, it drew Megatron from the past and seated him firmly in the present. The flavor of his electronic signature was uniquely him, just as much as the obnoxious splatter of his paint. As he told Rodimus, it was little more than a medical connection. It allowed them to share information from their sensornets and to trade charge, but it just wasn't possible for this kind of connection to go any deeper. Even in that, however, Megatron could recognize Rodimus as singular. There was no comparison.

The heat of Rodimus's frame was unreal. The way he responded so readily to the slightest touch surprised Megatron every time. He was well aware that Rodimus had been a frontline fighter. It was a ridiculous weakness, keeping that degree of sensitivity in his frame rather than having the medics sensibly reduce the number of sensors beneath his armoring.

Megatron didn't complain. The obscene responsiveness made Megatron feel powerful as little had since joining this sham of a quest. The drag of his fingers tracing Rodimus's transformation seams could bring the Autobot arching off berth with so little effort.

The quick pant of Rodimus's breath was quickly becoming Megatron's favorite sound.

The hardline connection allowed him some sense of what felt best for Rodimus. He could feel everything as Rodimus felt it -- at a remove, yes, but as ridiculously sensitive as he was, Megatron was almost grateful for that. His own frame had been altered so many times that he scarcely felt a connection, and he'd had the sensors dulled with every rebuild. That Rodimus had managed to coax as much response as he had said something about his determination -- and maybe about Megatron's attraction.

Reversing their positions, Megatron rolled Rodimus beneath him. "Stay."

"I'll think about it," Rodimus said.

He was not unfamiliar with the modifications that Rodimus sported. The spike and valve -- cord and port -- were a gross parody of hardline connection. It was intimacy made crude by biological mockery. It was dangerous, bypassing a sensible sensornet exchange to allow for a connection at deeper levels of programming.

There were those who would swear that the spike and valve had been part of the Cybertronian race since their creation, but Megatron had never bought into that. The fact that cold-created mechs were all too often not onlined with those mods, and that this was used as proof of their inferiority, seemed evidence enough to Megatron. It was one more tool of the establishment to keep the lower castes down.

It was a ridiculous affectation, a relic of Nova Prime's expansionist days, when Intellectual- and Military-caste mechs mimicked the lower-lifeforms that they conquered in some sort of bizarre colonialist appropriation.

Megatron slipped down Rodimus's frame. The biolights at his waist may as well have been giant arrows for all the subtlety with which they drew Megatron to Rodimus's pelvic panel. Megatron had barely brushed his fingers along the ribbed armoring before the plates eagerly transformed.

Megatron hid a laugh in the duck of his head. It was strangely flattering. Already partly pressurized, Rodimus's spike rose from its housing. His spike seemed proportionate to his frame -- perhaps smaller than others Megatron had handled, but then Rodimus was smaller, too. The length of it suited Megatron's palm as he stroked it to fullness.

"What, no flames?" The _relative_ subtlety of the paint job -- red and orange, of course, with gold highlights, but frankly what did he expect -- surprised Megatron. Rodimus indulged himself in nothing more than the biolights along its length.

"I think I'm hot enough." Rodimus laughed, reaching for Megatron to trace the seams of his helm.

It was the connectors tucked behind the slit at the head of Rodimus's spike that drew Megatron's gaze more than any other adornment. The bandwidth suggested there flooded his body with heat.

It awoke a phantom hunger in his core that he had to work to banish. Megatron had not, would not indulge in such biophillic modifications no matter _how much_ charge Rodimus could send through his cord into a waiting port. Not to mention the dangers of tangling programming that deeply!

Still--

_No._

Megatron pushed Rodimus's spike to the side somewhat dismissively, receiving a, "Hey!" of dismay from above. He moved on.

The glow of Rodimus's anterior node was tucked behind the folds of his valve. The rush of spark-warmed energon that flooded Rodimus's interfacing mods radiated a gentle warmth against Megatron's hands. Lubricant dampened the gentle mesh in testament to Rodimus's arousal. When Megatron slid his finger along the slit, the folds parted with ease.

"What, first time?" Rodimus was clearly not one for patience. His hips twisted as he dragged up on his elbows. "For starters you might want to--"

Dropping his helm, Megatron stroked his tongue over Rodimus's anterior node, revealed by the slide of his fingers.

"Yeah, okay," Rodimus said. His head fell back with a thump. That put a quick end to _that_ advice.

Allowing himself a moment's smugness, Megatron shifted to take Rodimus's leg at the knee and hook his leg over his shoulder. Rodimus eagerly followed with the other. His thighs quivered with anticipation as Megatron nosed at his valve. From the way Rodimus clenched the bedding, it was only an effort of will that kept him from grinding down into Megatron's face.

"Maybe not first time," Rodimus guessed.

"Keep talking," said Megatron, turning his head to press a kiss against Rodimus's inner thigh, "and I'll stop."

"Shutting up now, sir!"

Megatron lifted his head and watched horror dawn on Rodimus's features.

Rodimus sputtered, " --not sir! Co-captains! _You_ shut up." He threw his arm across his face, covering it.

At least Megatron couldn't mistake Rodimus for anyone else.

The steady pulse of light from Rodimus's anterior node drew Megatron's attention again. He drew it between his teeth -- lightly, but it was enough to cause Rodimus's ventilations to hitch and stutter into a moan. His hands flattened on the bedding and his hips rolled.

Megatron shifted his hands, pinning Rodimus by the hips.

He licked a broad swathe over the opening of Rodimus's valve. He wet the folds of his valve in a long series of indulgent licks and then drew the tip of his tongue up the center of his valve to circle the lit node.

Rodimus gasped. His thighs twitched on Megatron's shoulders.

Megatron closed his lips to suckle on the node -- gently, first, and when that produced only a faint whimper, harder, to hear Rodimus cry aloud.

Charge raced down the lines joining them. Megatron rubbed his thighs together as his processor attempted to translate the sensations Rodimus was feeling into something better suited to his frame. Heat scorched his thighs, and he groaned, only for that vibration too to feed over the line.

Rodimus was putting up a stunning argument in favor of the valve and spike modifications all without saying a word.

Megatron indulged himself in the lave of his tongue over heated metal for some time. The taste of Rodimus's lubricant was sweet on his tongue.

The small sounds and broken breath that he tore from Rodimus were so rewarding that it took Megatron some time to realize that words had stopped. The quiet of the room was broken only by the harsh whirr of their fans working to dispel the heat of their frames.

The slick of Megatron's tongue across the plush lips of his valve, sliding flat over his node, caused Rodimus to spasm on the edge of overload. Pre-charge crackled over Rodimus's frame and raced along his wires. The scent of lubricant and ozone was thick in the air as Megatron drew back.

It was perhaps cruel for Megatron to leave Rodimus there. That didn't stop him. He drew back.

He counted the seconds -- one, two, three -- and then Rodimus lifted his head.

He looked mad.

Gaze refocusing with some effort on Megatron, Rodimus pushed himself up on his elbows. "Why'd you stop?" he asked in a voice broken by static.

"Why did you?"

Whatever else he was -- heedless, irresponsible, impatient -- Rodimus was not stupid. His eyes narrowed. He pressed his lips tight over whatever answer he might have made.

Megatron pushed Rodimus's leg off his shoulder. It dropped to the side with a heavy clunk that brought a sulky look to Rodimus's face.

Megatron sighed. Back to familiar territory.

There were too many things that were too easily covered by quiet. This was dangerous already. Regret was a poison that neither of them could afford.

Placing his hand next to Rodimus's head, Megatron rolled forward over him until their noses were scant inches apart. He rubbed his thigh against Rodimus's spike and watched as his gaze unfocused again. "Why," he said, repeating himself very slowly, "did you stop? You went silent."

Fans already laboring to expel the heat from Rodimus's frame spun to new heights of effort. Embarrassment was an unusual look for Rodimus, who glanced to the side, refusing to meet Megatron's gaze. He mumbled something.

It took a monumental effort to gentle the touch of his hand to Rodimus's chin. Megatron pulled his head back to meet his gaze. "I expect an answer. If you want me to stop--"

"No!" Surprise widening his eyes, Rodimus stared at Megatron.

"No?" Megatron tapped two fingers against Rodimus's jaw and then dropped his hand.

"I just...."

Megatron grew impatient. He knocked Rodimus's thighs wider with a nudge to his knee. He dragged the tip of his finger along the biolights at Rodimus's waist. Once, twice, then a third time, just to watch as Rodimus twisted beneath his touch. He was responsive as ever, but maddeningly silent. "You just?"

"It was just a lot!" Rodimus said in a sudden burst.

Megatron rewarded him by sliding his hand down his abdomen. He palmed Rodimus's spike, rubbing under the head with the heel of his hand. Rodimus tilted his head back, breath breaking. Megatron brushed past his anterior node to push apart the lips of his valve with two fingers.

Loathe though Megatron was to admit it, there was something addictive in the slick of plush metal against his fingers. The reflected sensations feeding through the hardline fascinated him. He could do this for hours.

Rodimus groaned, slipping into silence again.

Megatron stilled his hand. Aggravation bit sharp edges into his words: "What was a lot?"

"Huh?" Rodimus glanced up again. His brain module finally seemed to engage. "You. This." He rolled his hips up against Megatron's hand.

Megatron indulged the hint. He stroked his fingers against the mesh lining and pushed. His fingers slipped in, slicked by lubricant, and pulled by the hungry clench of Rodimus's valve. He curled his fingers and listened, fascinated, as the press of his fingers against a raised sensor bed on the interior wall caused Rodimus's engine to stall.

The dull echo of sensation that transmitted through the link was maddeningly distant. His processor rendered it a diffuse brush of pressure over his entire frame

"They--"

Megatron stroked again, cutting off Rodimus mid-word. He hungered for that wide-eyed and unfocused look, as though Rodimus each time were surprised by the way his frame reacted to the touch of Megatron's hand.

"Ah!" Rodimus caught his breath and lifted his head to flash a sharp smile at Megatron. "Ha. You want an answer or not?"

Megatron met his smile with a deceptively mild look. "I thought you enjoyed a challenge."

Megatron dragged the tips of his fingers in a circle over the sensor bed and was rewarded by the dazzled brightness of Rodimus's gaze.

"Oh, frag. They talked about you, you know. The other Autobots. Of course they did. Big bad Megatron, but here you are, in my berth--"

Megatron found his gaze arrested as Rodimus bit his lips. Megatron lifted his eyes from Rodimus's mouth when he saw the start of a smirk.

Rodimus held his gaze, and rolled his hips down against Megatron's hand. His valve closed wet and hungry on Megatron's fingers in a slick of lubricant-greased metal. "And not doing too bad, really."

"Not doing too bad," Megatron repeated in disbelief.

Rodimus's smile widened to something radiant. "Well, you know, it's only natural that you wouldn't have the _experience_ \--."

Megatron sent a bolt of charge along their joined hardlines that reduced Rodimus to a whimper of pleasure.

"I could enjoy working you into ruin," Megatron said. With a twist of his wrist, he withdrew his fingers from Rodimus's valve. He lifted his hand to Rodimus's mouth. He pushed the tips of his fingers past Rodimus's eagerly parting lips and watched as he licked the lubricant from them.

"You respond magnificently, I admit. There's something--." Megatron paused to firm his voice. Rodimus was doing this _thing_ with his tongue, licking between his fingers and digging deep into the joints, that threatened to break the steadiness of his tone.

With scarcely a hitch in his breathing, Megatron said, "--to watching how eagerly you respond. But -- really. Making a comment about my experience? When thus far my greatest pleasure has been to watch you lie there?"

Rodimus's jaw slackened in disbelief. His tongue stopped doing that thing. Megatron felt a flicker of disappointment.

A moment later, Rodimus bit the tip of Megatron's finger, then spat his fingers from his mouth.

Caught in a laugh, Megatron would admit to surprise deep in his thoughts as Rodimus sent an uncontrolled bolt of energy surging across the hardline. His vision whited out before the charge steadied in a crackle over his plating.

" _Lie there_ ," Rodimus repeated. " _Lie there_!"

While he couldn't match Starscream for shrillness, the outrage was similar. Between Rodimus's thighs, Megatron sat back and smirked.

He was not prepared for Rodimus to wrap the cable joining them in his hand and pull with gentle, inexorable force.

"My turn."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay now I'm getting weird and you have to put up with it if you want the robot porn, sorry.

As the edge of overload receded, Rodimus felt a flash of annoyance. Heat that had threatened to ignite the fuel in his frame cooled. Charge that had been high enough to crackle over his exposed wiring ticked down in small prickles of static. It left him with little kindness in his smile as he looked at Megatron. "My turn."

Whatever Megatron saw in his expression turned the anticipation in his eyes toward trepidation. Good. That's about where he _should_ be. Accuse _Rodimus_ of just _lying there_ \--

Kneeling, Rodimus laid his palm flat over the Autobot emblem on Megatron's chest and pushed. Megatron gave way, grudging every centimeter.

As Rodimus knelt over him, he fingered the cable running between them. The line ran from beneath Megatron's chest to a port beneath Rodimus's hood. "How many of these do you usually run?"

Megatron hesitated, then said, "One is typically sufficient."

Rodimus settled in Megatron's lap and leaned back to brace his hands on his heels. He sunk low on his hips. The liquid heat of his valve slicked over the warm metal of Megatron's pelvic span. The rub of his spike, thus far cruelly all but ignored, ached deliciously. Charge gathered at the tip, and a spark leaped to ground on the metal of Megatron's frame. Rodimus bit back most of a small, desperate gasp. It was all he could do to keep from rocking his way to completion. It would be so, so easy.

No. He was going to wipe that smirk right off of Megatron's face.

"Cool," Rodimus said. If one was good, two had to be better. "Show me how to run another." At Megatron's stuffed look, his smile only widened. "What? You scared?"

Voice saturated with tones of wearied patience, Megatron said, "'Dare you' is really your most compelling argument?"

"Nah," said Rodimus. "I can do better." He arched his back and put a little twist into it, highlighting the narrow of his waist and the flattering biolighting, the stretch of his hips as they widened to span Megatron's thighs, and the breadth of his shoulders outlined by the high line of his spoiler.

When he was sure he had Megatron's attention, marked as much by the slide of Megatron's hands up his thighs as the heat of his gaze, Rodimus triggered a transformation sequence. The hood of his chest shifted in the first stage of a transformation that, if allowed to continue, would bare his spark.

He halted it in the second stage. Rodimus had never really been into the whole 'bare your spark' thing, not even metaphorically. Literally? To Megatron? Ha. _No_.

The thought sent a thrum of energy through Rodimus's limbs and a bolt of heat to his core. He buried it. Hard.

Megatron looked surprised, first, then vaguely sardonic -- and a little relieved -- when the transformation settled only partway through the sequence.

The loosened plating allowed the light of Rodimus's spark to escape and made it easier to access his ports. The light was a harsh and brilliant blue that contrasted sharply with the golden glow of the lighting in his quarters. The sparklight cast Megatron's features in white and black as silver took on light and shadow.

Megatron's gaze shifted, and Rodimus almost wished he could see it from his point of view. He looked ... _enraptured_. There was nothing there but a handful of medical ports and maybe a hint of sparklight.

Pretty boring stuff, Rodimus figured. He had more ports than usual, but that was about fair given how much he ended up in medical. Ratchet had even made a comment to that effect once. He said the biggest idiots always had the most ports and their needless repairs tied up the most medics. Ratch had glared at Optimus, who scuffed a foot.

Megatron snarled like he was _starving_. He drew a cable to run a line. As the second cable connected, the bolt of arousal from Megatron sent a renewed charge crackling over their frames.

Rodimus steadied the rev of his engine and timed the cycles of his ventilations until they calmed. It took longer than he expected. The second cable didn't just add on more sensation, it multiplied. The handshake and communication protocols had taken up a significant portion of the bandwidth from the single connection, while the second streamed nearly pure sensation.

Rodimus could feel the weight of his own frame in Megatron's lap even more strongly. The eager dampness of his valve pressed tight to Megatron's body was a tangible heat. He wasn't sure who sent the first pulse of charge -- it could've been him, kicking out in an instinctive attempt to dump excess charge as arousal heated his frame. But when Megatron sent charge thrumming back over the cable, Rodimus was not above engaging in a back and forth slap-fight. They goaded one another, edging closer and closer to overload, trading point for point until both their fans were frantically trying to dump heat.

"Okay, now what?" Rodimus laughed. "Are you kidding me with this wham, bam, plug it in? Do Decepticons not do foreplay? That's got to be the saddest thing I've ever heard."

"Of course we do. Kiss, touch, fieldplay--"

"Uh, did you just make that word up?" Rodimus interrupted.

"Fieldplay?" Megatron repeated, looking confused. "Do you not?"

"Not what?"

Megatron answered by lifting his hand. Rodimus cocked his head with interest at the sound of a muted transformation sequence. "What...?"

Megatron stroked his hand up Rodimus's spine. The touch of his hand sent shivers rippling, crawling beneath Rodimus's plating. It felt like--.

He didn't even know what to compare it to.

It wasn't the usual charge racing his lines. Not at all. The familiar electromagnetic pattern of Rodimus's sensornet field shattered and scrambled into fuzz. It was not entirely dissimilar from the tingle of a stunned limb coming back online. It buzzed and teased and _prickled_ , and he wasn't even sure he liked it until Megatron did it again.

It was though a bolt of lightning leaped straight from Megatron's hand to bury itself in Rodimus's wiring. Warmth bloomed along his spine. Rodimus was embarrassed to realize that raw noise was _him_.

"Okay," he said, curling his fingers on Megatron's shoulders to pull him off the berth. He leaned down to bring them nose to nose. " _What_ was _that_?"

Megatron, looking much too pleased with himself, said, "Magnets."

" _Magnets_?"

Megatron hummed thoughtfully. "Yes. Magnets. They disrupt the electromagnetic field of your sensornet just below your armoring--."

Rodimus pushed Megatron back to the berth and jumped off of him in an eager scramble. He didn't get far: one step, and the cables connecting them pulled him tight.

Megatron sat up with a grunt of surprise. Exasperation flavored the shake of his head.

Rodimus made a face, disconnecting the cables and throwing them back at Megatron. "Hold that thought." He dove for his storage, digging around. He knew he was getting warmer when he saw one of Drift's swords. He removed it carefully and then reached deeper yet.

Returning to the berth, he flashed the two hand magnets at Megatron with a grin. Rodimus settled in again, taking a seat on Megatron's lap for the third time in less than an hour. This was getting to be habit.

"Plug me in," Rodimus said with a shimmy of his hips and an arch to expose the ports which so fascinated Megatron. Megatron did so with gratifying speed.

Rodimus fiddled around a moment with the devices, pulling the interface up on his heads-up display for wireless activation and control. With a click, the devices magnetized to his palms.

Megatron was holding _something_ back with monumental effort. Carefully, he asked, "Where did you get those?"

"These? From Drift," Rodimus said, double-checking the controls.

Megatron made a complicated noise that ended in a clear laugh. " _Deadlock_?"

Rodimus frowned. "Drift," he said, leaning forward to hold Megatron's gaze, "gave them to me." After a moment, he added, "To cool down, relax. After our sparring sessions."

"To relax." Megatron's frame shook with ill-suppressed laughter. "That's what he told you?"

Rodimus curled his hands to form fists and knuckled down on Megatron's chest, leaning in. "Please note that I'm not laughing," he said. He stepped around thoughts of Drift the same way he'd avoid putting weight on a broken limb.

Megatron, taking the measure of Rodimus's expression, sobered somewhat. "What you seem to believe are, mm, personal massagers," he said, choosing the words with some care, " _we_ would call sex toys."

Rodimus could feel his frame heating. "Well, that's not how we used them. So you can either shut up about it, or tell me what you did."

Megatron covered Rodimus's hands with his own and turned one over into his palm. He stroked the side of Rodimus's hand, the lines of his fingers, and then circled the devices nestled in his palm. Megatron was far more careful with his hands than Rodimus would have expected.

Rodimus squirmed. The heat of his arousal burned brightly already: a single, hot flame. Megatron's touch did nothing to fan or smother that flame. It was a different, more dangerous warmth that built behind it. It started in his spark and suffused his limbs. He felt cherished, and it was ridiculous. He felt cared for, and it was a lie. His hands tingled beneath Megatron's touch.

Megatron took his time. He was agonizingly thorough and had a patience that Rodimus scarcely believed. Rodimus had to work to control the twitch of his hand. He wanted to close his fingers and hold the feeling close. Those light little touches sent a shiver up his arm to cause his spark to tighten and pulse.

The moment stretched into minutes. "Okay, so we're opting for shut up?" Rodimus asked.

"No," Megatron said, glancing up at him with a smirk. "I was getting a sense for the magnets. They are fairly weak--."

Rodimus glanced to the side, tongue at the corner of his lips, and nudged at the unfamiliar controls. He increased the power of the magnets, and when he looked back down, Megatron's eyes were wide.

"Ah. Of course." Megatron's smile was sharp in the sparklight. He reached for Rodimus with both hands. "Do as I do."

Megatron's hands settled on Rodimus's thighs. Given that he was seated on Megatron's lap, mirroring the gesture exactly was more or less impossible. Rodimus looked down over Megatron to pick a target. He settled on arms. The fuzz of his sensors where Megatron's hands rested on his legs felt strange -- interesting, but not great.

Megatron pulled his hands down Rodimus's thighs in a lazy stroke, and Rodimus mirrored the gesture. A numbing tingle radiated from the point of Megatron's touch. Through the cables connecting them, Rodimus could feel the stroke of his hands over Megatron's arms as a prickle in his own frame.

The magnetic field was just enough to tease and pull the flow of electricity through his sensornet, which spat out phantom data about a feather-soft touch. His deeper systems were warded against the effects of a magnetic field, but the surface sensors responded eagerly.

"Interesting, but not exactly--"

Megatron did it again, only this time electricity _surged_ to follow his touch. Rodimus's sensors were entirely beyond his control. Charge crawled up Rodimus's thighs to send a bolt of heat to his interface array.

Rodimus slumped forward with a sudden, startled moan, and scrambled to drag his hands along Megatron's arms. Yet through the link, all he felt was that same tickling tingle.

Megatron was smirking.

Rodimus _hated_ that.

"What did you do?" Rodimus slapped Megatron's hands away. Charge raced through his lines. His spark knocked against its chamber, hot and heating further, as arousal liquidated his frame. And Megatron felt nothing! Well, sure, maybe not _nothing_ , but not _that_.

Megatron, _still smirking_ , said, "You could see and feel exactly what I did."

Rodimus stared down at him with a scowl. Feeling was not the same as understanding. Feeling was manifestly, hilariously _not_ the same as understanding, _ever_.

When Megatron reached for him, Rodimus slapped his hands again. "No! I'm going to figure this out." He pushed Megatron's hands above his head. A muted pulse of charge crawled over Megatron's frame, echoed through their hardline connection.

Rodimus had only just noticed it when it subsided again. He had clearly just done _something_  that Megatron's frame liked, but he wasn't sure what. He pressed down on Megatron's hands, pinning them above his head, but received only an indulgent look. That wasn't it. He sat back, dragging the magnets along the line of Megatron's arms. He mapped each curve and ridge, and while it felt interesting, even good, it wasn't anything like what that sudden pulse of heat. The sharpest pleasure he pulled from Megatron was when he dug in with the tips of his fingers, stroking wires bared at the joints, rather than from the fuzz of the magnets.

Megatron waited patiently -- at first. "If you--"

"Ah!" Rodimus covered Megatron's mouth with his hand. "No! I'm figuring it out myself." And there it was again! That same blossoming charge saturated Megatron's field.

Rodimus lifted his hand, and the feeling subsided.

Megatron folded his arms behind his head and settled in, clearly getting comfortable in the expectation that this would take a while.

Rodimus scowled. "I bet you think you're so funny," he muttered. He stroked his hands over Megatron's shoulders as he thought about the two reactions. "Is this about wanting me to hold you down and frag--"

Megatron didn't even let him finish: "No."

Megatron sure said it firmly enough, but Rodimus watched his expression, and he thought maybe Megatron wasn't telling the entire truth. He added that to his 'later' file, too.

"No," repeated Rodimus, more thoughtfully. "Then the only thing that they really had in common--"

_His helmet_?

Rodimus baffled at that dumb overturned bucket framing Megatron's face, then lifted his hands from Megatron's shoulders. He placed one hand against Megatron's head, fingers curling to cup the back of his head, and tucked his other hand beneath his chin, lifting it.

Charge dawned in a radiant glow. "Ha. I knew it."

"As I recall, your first thought was actually--" Megatron was starting to complain, so Rodimus brought their lips together in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. Their breath mingled, scorching; he cycled air through his vents, but the air he took in was scarcely any cooler. He licked his way into Megatron's mouth, tasting rising charge gathering like the electric silence before a bolt of lightning. He groaned.

Megatron was a fantastic kisser. That was probably the weirdest thought that Rodimus had had in the past couple of weeks, and the past couple of weeks had included a ship full of dead quantum duplicates and _his own coffin_. There was some strong competition for weird. But Megatron was slagging hot. Rodimus resolved to stop thinking about it.

They traded the lead between them: Megatron caught Rodimus's lower lip lightly between his teeth; Rodimus tilted Megatron's head, shaping the angle so that he could deepen the kiss to something filthy. They cooperated far more readily in the berth than they ever had outside of it.

The hardline connection mirrored the press of lip in a way that could easily have been disorienting, yet swiftly grew intoxicating. The small, wet sounds and soft rasp of metal on metal was drowned by the rising hum of their ventilation systems. Their poor fans worked so hard to cool their systems, only for Rodimus and Megatron to fight them every step. Rodimus broke away, breath ragged, and a small spark crackled from his mouth to Megatron's lips. He wasn't sure which of them made that needy little noise.

Rodimus lifted his hand from Megatron's chin and framed his helm with the stroke of his hands. He checked to make sure the magnets were in place and active, then he brushed his palms back over Megatron's helm. His fingers were buzzing lightly from the magnet's proximity, but what he felt from Megatron knocked that right off the charts.

Trading the initiative of their kiss to Megatron, Rodimus spent a quick moment reviewing the magnetic device controls. One of the settings was 'pulse'. He didn't remember ever using that with Drift.

No time like the present to experiment.

No sooner had Rodimus switched it on than Megatron moaned. Charge crackled along the cables to bury itself with lightning swiftness in Rodimus's spark.

Grinning into the kiss, Rodimus broke free to nose at Megatron's cheek. "One thing you might've forgotten about me: I'm a quick learner." He placed a kiss at the corner of Megatron's lips, then his cheek, then just next to his nose, all while stroking his hands over Megatron's helm.

Megatron arched off the berth, turning his mouth blindly after Rodimus's lips. Anything he might have said dissolved in static.

As charge built, Rodimus thought he could almost feel the push and pull of tangling EM fields over and in and around his fingers. The air grew thick as rich engex around his hands.

Through the hardline link, he could sense everything Megatron liked. When he found a sensitive bit of panelling, he was merciless. The deep rev of Megatron's engines sent vibrations shivering through his thighs and hips where they pressed close. The draft of heaving fans sent scalding air over Rodimus's body with every cycle of breath.

Megatron slid his hands up the outside of Rodimus's thighs. His hands were strong still despite the fool's energon, and they curved over the thick armoring at the top of Rodimus's thigh as though Megatron wanted to tear it away from the thinner plating beneath. It made them both shiver, and Rodimus increased the force of the magnetic field just to feel the way Megatron's hands trembled.

"I have an idea," said Rodimus.

Megatron groaned, bereft of words.

Rodimus chose to interpret that as interest. He scrambled back, delighted by the noise of protest Megatron raised in the absence of his hands. Megatron sat up, looking at Rodimus blearily. From the sparks dancing along his deep wiring, he was as charged up as Rodimus had been when Megatron had left _him_ to cool earlier.

Good.

Rodimus threw himself back with an eagerness he tried to pass as sensual anticipation. He didn't think it worked. Megatron had to work to rub a smirk from his lips.

Rodimus crooked a finger at Megatron. "C'mon. This way we both get what we want." The air around them was almost uncomfortably warm, but where his thighs parted to reveal his valve and spike, the flow of air over the desperately overheated metal felt cool as a breeze. Rodimus thought he'd burn up if he didn't overload. Soon. "Throw me one of those pillows, too, would you?"

Megatron threw the pillow with more force than Rodimus thought strictly necessary. "You are a pain in the aft."

Rodimus dropped the pillow under his aft and settled in. "Nah. You don't have the right mods for that." He wiggled his hips.

Megatron got the point. He dragged his hands up Rodimus's thighs and kneeled between them. Rodimus's knees knocked wider yet to leave room for Megatron's body. Rodimus reached forward, fingertips scrabbling for a grip on Megatron's shoulders. He held on, and used the leverage to pull Megatron toward him.

Rodimus brushed his lips over Megatron's cheek toward his audials and whispered, "Race you."

Megatron's lips parted -- on an argument, probably, judging by the look on his face. Rodimus cut it off by lifting his hands to frame Megatron's helm with a heavy pulse of the electromagnets.

Megatron stopped, groaned, and surged to press into the touch of Rodimus's hand.

Triumph brought a smile to Rodimus's lips. "I knew you couldn't be as stupid as you--" Megatron dug his fingers into Rodimus's hips, tweaking the wires, and he finished in a squeak: "--looked!"

Whatever advantage Rodimus had in having worked Megatron so close to the edge so recently was lost as charge pulsed along the hardline connection. Every time he stroked his hand over Megatron's helm, it was as though his own head was wreathed in an aura of rising charge. He couldn't imagine what it felt like from Megatron's side.

As intense as it was, it still lacked the hard bolt of pleasure he'd felt when Megatron had run his hands along his spine earlier. Rodimus would have to practice more -- a _lot_ more -- until he could be sure of replicating that. If he could pull that off, this contest would already be over.

For now, he focused, with an intensity reserved for little outside of battle, on sending Megatron into an overload first.

Megatron was not making it easy on him. For someone who insisted that Decepticons didn't carry those mods, he had no hesitation in dealing with Rodimus's spike. He knew exactly what he was doing. It would've made Rodimus wonder, if he had anything left of his processor to spare for the thought.

What Megatron didn't take in his mouth, he stroked with clever fingers. He learned Rodimus's spike with the touch of his hand, and followed with the heat of his mouth. Oral lubricants slicked the stroke of metal on metal. Rodimus already knew that Megatron was good with his hands, but this was obscene. The hardline connection allowed Megatron to feel everything, to sense the rise of charge that told him _that_ pressure and _this_ pace.

Rodimus tried to choke back some small sound or another only for Megatron to force it from him: Megatron repeated what he had just done, laving the head with the flat of his tongue before swirling down to follow the hydraulic channel beneath with the tip. The sound broke free of Rodimus's throat and his legs shook. Megatron's tongue chased the charge crackling on the connectors behind the slit at the tip, and they _both_ groaned.

When Megatron slipped his fingers -- his _magnetized_ fingers -- down to rub just below the spike, over and around his anterior node, Rodimus couldn't even protest. It wasn't that he didn't want to protest: he absolutely did. That was cheating, complete cheating, of the worst sort! Magnets were his thing!

But his words just kept breaking into static. The most coherent thing he managed was a broken moan. His hands slackened and he threw his head back. He thrust into the waiting heat of Megatron's mouth.

Megatron drew back off of Rodimus's spike, lips parting with a pop that echoed. A line of dripping lubricant connected them a moment more before breaking.

He looked up at Rodimus, who was having trouble focusing on him. Megatron said, "At least make it a _challenge_ ," and bumped his head against Rodimus's hands not unlike an obnoxious cat.

Rodimus smirked at the note of need in Megatron's voice. He tried to cover it, but his voice _broke_ around it. This was definitely one of the best bad ideas that Rodimus had ever had.

Rodimus tangled his fingers in that thick field once again, and watched as Megatron bobbed his head back down over his spike. He stroked his hand to meet the stretch of his lips around Rodimus's spike, unerring in his ability to map every single thing that drove Rodimus wild.

Oh, yeah. Definitely the best bad idea he'd had.

Rodimus tried to focus on the hardline connection in a desperate attempt to stave off overload. The slick heat of Megatron's mouth and rub of his fingers kept pulling him back into his frame. Rising charge rippled over Rodimus's body. His thighs and abdomen quivered with the twitch and release of small, reflexive transformations that warned of impending overload. He was close. He was _so_ close.

If Megatron pulled off this time, Rodimus would murder him. Fully justified. Even Ultra Magnus would agree.

Rodimus had to win. He buckled down, focusing. The push of the magnet against Megatron's helm sent the electric field over his sensornet scattering and fuzzing into disorder, but when he drew his hands away, it would rebound. He was pretty sure that this was the secret to what Megatron had done earlier. Each time it rebounded, the charge rippled higher. Megatron certainly seemed to like from the way he moaned around Rodimus's spike.

Megatron's efforts grew desperate as Rodimus coaxed the charge higher and higher. He had no idea why Megatron was so obscenely sensitive to fieldplay around his head, but Rodimus wasn't one to avoid a weakness out of some sense of honor, especially not with his own pride on the line.

The air was thick with ozone. Sparks snapped wherever their frames met, cracking down Megatron's throat or jumping to Rodimus's thighs. Their engines snarled in shared hunger. They'd long left words behind. They saved their best barbs for the stroke of their hands, the lick of a tongue, or the pulse of magnets.

They were ruthless with each other, but Rodimus was winning, he was sure of it. That was when Megatron sent a packet of heavy charge pulsing over the hardline at the same time he slipped two fingers into Rodimus's valve and _curled_ them. The rub of his thumb over Rodimus's node was just insult to injury.

Overload hit Rodimus hard. He released a binary gasp, static on his lips, and arched off the berth. Megatron held him down with a hand on his hips. Rodimus hooked his leg around Megatron's hips and pulled him in hard as he pushed his spike down Megatron's throat. A bolt of charge leapt from his spike to ground itself in Megatron's frame. His eyes widened unseeing into a flare of light.

When he looked down again, thighs still quivering, it was to see Megatron watching him with a predatory gleam. Silver hands stroked along Rodimus's thighs as the last small sparks of overload faded. The microtransformation twitches settled under the soothe of Megatron's touch.

Pretty much the last thing Rodimus wanted to hear was, "I win," but there it was. Megatron was smirking like he'd just won the war and Rodimus--

Well, right now, Rodimus was riding a wave of post-overload warmth and didn't really care. He was pretty sure he would care _soon_ , though.

Basking in the glow of overload, he just said, "Shut up. You cheated," and pulled Megatron up. Rodimus felt almost overwhelmed by the warmth of his frame and sensitive to the heat of Megatron's body.

Rodimus firmed the setting of the magnets in his palms and then ran his hands over Megatron's helmet. He dug his fingers up under the edge of his helm, then down along the cables and cords of his neck. He scratched through the tangle of Megatron's field, and dragged his hands over it to leave behind furrows of rising and falling charge. He shaped and sculpted the field, feeling the waves as they passed through the hardline connection: tingling bliss, scorching heat, and the sharp, hot rise of charge. He thought -- maybe, maybe if he mirrored the waves, the rise and the fall, they would meet together and crash and--

There. The charge of Megatron's sensornet spiked in a sudden bolt. Overload seemed to catch him by surprise, and the pulse through the hardline sent Rodimus into a second, smaller overload of his own. He savored the heat sinking deep into his lines.

Megatron collapsed against Rodimus, forcing a grunt of surprise from both their frames. Rodimus switched off the electromagnets and set them to the side. Small twitches and crackles of charge rippled over Megatron's helm as his field reestablished itself. It took him a while to find himself again. He was dazed, almost unaware. Rodimus soothed with simple touch, petting Megatron's helm and rubbing his shoulders. To his surprise, the simple touch to Megatron's head felt nearly as good through the hardline as the magnets had. It wasn't just fieldplay that Megatron was sensitive to: his entire head was hyper-sensitive.

When Megatron's gaze was focusing again, Rodimus asked, "Why is your head as sensitive as my spike, and does this mean I can call you a dickhead?"

Megatron butted his head against Rodimus's hand and then rolled to the side with a grunt of effort. "Shut up." He reached over with a blind hand to pull the cables and spool them away.

As the connection cut, Rodimus felt a sudden sense of loss. He was alone in his own skin, and empty. Megatron was just a block of metal next to him rather than something that was almost an extension of his own frame.

Rodimus ached.

He focused on reversing the transformation that had laid his ports bare, but left his armoring fluffed in an attempt to dispel heat.

At his side, Megatron was doing the same.

"So, you cheated," Rodimus said at length.

"When have I ever acted in a way that suggests I'd neglect any possible edge in a contest?"

Rodimus hummed rather than answer. It seemed safer. He listened to the ping of cooling metal.

After another stretch of silence, Rodimus said, "We really should plan, though."

Megatron chuckled. "We'll see. Perhaps you're not totally useless."

* * *

Ultra Magnus studied the chart on Rodimus's wall.

Rodimus sat on his desk watching him eagerly. He had a perfectly good chair at the desk, but no, he sat _on_ the desk, rather than _at_ it. It made Ultra Magnus itch.

The chart drew his attention away from the mess on the desk to study the wall. The chart was immaculate. The detail, the organization: it sang. It had a perfectly rational color-coded organization scheme, complete with a well-labeled key. The flow of information was logical, ordered.

Ultra Magnus felt a little choked up about it, to tell the truth.

He turned away from the chart to face Rodimus. "Clearly you put a lot of effort into this," Ultra Magnus said. Rodimus laughed, but Ultra Magnus forged on: "--and I _appreciate_ that."

Rodimus made a strange little snorting noise.

Ultra Magnus sighed. Rodimus was not taking him seriously. He stepped forward to place a hand on Rodimus's shoulder, which had always served to ground his attention. It did the same now. Rodimus turned to look up at him with a smile. "It's good work," Ultra Magnus said.

Rodimus's smile blossomed into a bright grin. "Well, it turns out planning isn't so bad, after all. Who knows? You might even want to get into it."

Although Rodimus's smile hooked strangely crooked, Ultra Magnus stepped eagerly into the opening for professional development. "In fact, there are several techniques that you could use to refine your strategic approach--."

While Ultra Magnus was confused by the laughter that never quite left Rodimus's gaze, he was gratified to find that Rodimus paid close attention. The next planning session would doubtless be quite rewarding.


End file.
